“This is humiliating,” Strauss muttered. “We’re Delta wolves. Warriors. This is beneath us.”
“We’re trainable,” Ira countered. “Perfect for our perfect mate.”
“Our mate who doesn’t know what we are yet,” I added.
“Semantics,” said Ira.
Pauline’s mom was now sitting up—barely—supported by her daughter and looking at us with the kind of horror usually reserved for surprise colonoscopies.
“I need to lie down,” she said. “Or move to Florida.”
“You hate humidity,” Pauline reminded her gently.
“Then just kill me now.”
I leaned a little to the side and gave her a polite tail wag. She whimpered.
Robert groaned. “You’re terrifying her.”
“You’re the one who wanted to wag.”
“I didn’t say you should do it. You have serial killer eyes.”
I straightened. “I do not!”
“Your tail wags like it’s
